


untitled

by icantbelieveiamdoingthis



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantbelieveiamdoingthis/pseuds/icantbelieveiamdoingthis
Summary: i can't belive i am writing this, is not just a name but that's a feeling. i cannot believe i am writing an rpf, but since writing it made me feel a little bit better, actually a lot better, i thought why not post it?it goes without saying that this is fanfiction, work of imagination, and it has nothing to do with real life ( as i don't know them and i highly doubt you do!), so don't @ me your insults, i dont care.





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> i am italian, so please have pity on me as my grammar, that leaves a lot to be desired...

The pain is an old friend. The thing about suffering from chronic pain is that it becomes your only fixed constant that you can always count on.  
It’s not that she hadn’t felt pain in the last two years, as the comeback had not been exactly good for her legs. The doctors had estimated that with the training she did, she at least cut five good years from their overall health. It meant that she was going to have to walk with a cane by the time she was fifty.  
The adrenaline of the comeback and Scott’s presence helped her immensely, and the tour, or at least the three-quarters of it, where she was blissfully ignorant of what he was doing, were the best time of her life. An unspoken promise, in which she put her heart, her love, her passion, so much as to go as far as rearranging some important appointments around “the conversation” that she was so looking forward to having. The same talk that she had been waiting for since 2014.  
Instead, the rug was pulled out from under her and she fell on her butt, yet again.  
Therefore, when she started to feel the full wave of pain again, she welcomed it like an old friend, faithfully returning to her, as if it belonged to her.  
Somehow, she finished the tour, it had all been a blur and the events after and the book signings were all mushed together. Interviews and declaration of love (?), all bullshit.  
She walked the red carpet at the WOF event like the happiest woman alive, and in a sense, she was.  
This was historic: they did what they had set out to do, and then some.  
She would, for the public events after she found out, behave like nothing was wrong because she didn’t want to remember the pain and the sorrow. She wanted to remember the happiness that she felt, and the pride in achieving the impossible, not for him, never again for him, but for herself.  
She had done that. She overcame a diagnosis that had wanted her on a wheelchair if she didn’t stop skating. She had essentially said fuck that, and do the miracle, with the pain as her constant companion.  
The physical pain she could always handle. She had become such pro at it, it became natural for her.  
Her heartbreak, on the other hand, was more difficult to deal with. Especially if there had never been a conversation about them, not a real one. Just a wait and see, and focus on their careers, the talk had been put off so many times, that should have seen this coming from miles away.  
And no, contrary to popular beliefs, no they had never been together and no, they had never had sex. There was a line there, Scott’s idea, and never to be spoken.  
The comeback, how Scott always leaned on her, his touch, his kisses on the neck that made her shiver every single time, had gotten her hopes up, that they were finally going to talk about it, that they were finally confronting this beast, this elephant in the room. She can admit that.  
The thank you tour came, and it was busy. They had not had a moment for themselves, they had worked and worked and nothing else, so she hoped, again with his touch and the kisses and the teasing, that maybe after everything was done, it would finally be the time.  
Instead, he went to Florida, and behind her back started something, that she wasn’t sure he even knew the implications of.  
And when “she” came to the show. He had lied to her face. Innocent face and dismissive attitude, so maybe she thought she was acting foolishly. This was not 2014, they had won, they had a gold medal to show for it, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t.  
The thing is he actually did. He had blindsided her, again. And this was by her count, and you bet she was counting now, the third time he had done this.  
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.  
How about the third time?  
She had had a panic attack that night. It had been years since the last one, but this was what heartbreak did to her.  
In the midst of the breathing exercises that her therapist had thought her, she had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of her vanity and she stopped for a second, looked at herself, really looked at her reflection, red eyes, hair all over the place. She had looked like death warmed over.  
She was 29 for goodness sake, and she was still here, she recognized the pattern, she recognized the road she was in. Only now, meekly she realized that there would be no comeback and maybe, just maybe if people forgot about them, then maybe there wouldn’t be a tour either, and maybe just maybe, she could allow herself to let go, to be done. Finally.  
Letting go, not only meant the tours, and skating, she realized, but it also meant letting go of him as a constant presence in her life, and somehow and breathing slowed down, and a cold calmness washed over her. Maybe she could move on. She had done it once already. She could do it again, only now there was a certainty about it. There would be no going back. No silent conversations, no unspoken words, no puppy dog eyes, no business ventures together would ever be sufficient to fix this.  
Actually, that night after she had a shower, she found that she couldn’t be bothered to fix this.  
She was exhausted, drained, she just had a way better poker face then he did.  
She smiled, laughed, touched him, she was looking as happy as she could have been, and every picture of that night reflected that. She made damn sure of it. It was Her moment now. The culmination of the physical pain that she had endured, and that she would have to endure in the future for the duration of her life.  
If nothing else, the tears, the heartbreak, the pain was worth it. To be inducted in such a prestigious way. Her name forever united even if it was with his, in history.  
The fans had called them the GOATS of ice dance, and maybe that’s they will ever be, and now she was fine with it.  
The thing that hurt her the most is that she didn’t recognize him anymore. She looked at him as if he was this new version, worst version of himself. Her Scott, gone forever, replaced by this person.  
He had, with his incapability to handle things, single-handedly transformed their partnership into a global soap opera. Her media outlets transformed in a big basket of insults directed at her, because why not, people thought she was to blame for this too, but she would not, not now, not ever put her feelings on public display for everyone to see, speculate and gossip about.  
For this, for trivializing their… whatever, she would never forgive him.  
This was not the end that she had envisioned. Nonetheless, this was her reality now.  
Talk of partnership, bonds, well, that was BS now, and he had done this to her. Every time he spoke about it or she spoke about it, gone was the warm and fuzzy feeling. Now she just felt cold. As to why he would do this to her, to lie to her, she had no idea and she did not want to know. Maybe this was who he really was. If that was true, then she never really knew him at all.


End file.
